


when we were young

by cadyjanis, damianhubbard



Category: Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, First Meetings, Middle School, Mild Transphobia, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadyjanis/pseuds/cadyjanis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/damianhubbard/pseuds/damianhubbard
Summary: “it’s not my fault this class doesn’t have an even number of people,” he mutters, earning a sharp look even though he’s right.but then the door opens, and twenty-one students becomes twenty-two. both damian and his teacher look towards the door, and damian’s stomach drops when he recognizes the girl.—in which damian and janis meet for the first time, but with consequences.





	when we were young

**Author's Note:**

> tw for mentions of/minor transphobia.

“Where is your lab partner?”

 

Oh, shoot. She noticed.

 

“Um.” He shuffles in his seat, glancing around at all the tables occupied by pairs. Working alone can be fun, right? He doesn’t need a partner. He’s used to that.

 

“Ugh.” Damian’s teacher pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t not have a partner.”

 

“It’s not my fault this class doesn’t have an even number of people,” he mutters, earning a sharp look even though he’s right.

 

But then the door opens, and twenty-one students becomes twenty-two. Both Damian and his teacher look towards the door, and Damian’s stomach drops when he recognizes the girl.

 

It’s Sarkisian, Regina’s second-in-command. She doesn’t talk much but is always by Regina’s side, typically clad in a similar or exact matching outfit.

 

He remembers years ago when her hair was still dark. It’s a flash in his memory, a vision of her on the playground in third grade, dark locks parted in braids, wearing overalls.

 

For the last year or so, though, her wardrobe has grown increasingly pink and pretty, and her hair is streaked with highlights, not a strand out of place. Her face has gotten harder, he thinks to himself. More difficult to move, like it pains her to smile.

 

It’s like she’s turning to silicone. It’s eerie.

 

“Miss Sarkisian,” the teacher says, sounding surprised, which is understandable given the fact Plastics don’t take classes that require actual brain power. “Do you need something?”

 

“Yeah, um,” she says awkwardly, glancing down at the paper in her hand. “I’m in this class now, my parents had me sign up for extra credit…” She gets increasingly embarrassed as she explains, and her cheeks get rosy. She deliberately avoids eye contact with Damian.

 

“Oh.” The teacher, Ms. Jones, looks down at Damian with her eyebrows raised, then back at Janis. “Excellent. Miss H—erm.” A pause. Damian hates that kind of pause. A few of his classmates snicker. “Well—um, Damian needs a partner. Have a seat.”

 

Well, that could’ve been worse. At least she used his name.

 

His _actual_ name. The same can’t be said for most people.

 

There’s a stillness in the air as Janis makes her way to the back of the room, to the last table in the middle row where Damian sits. He stares into his lab assignment sheet as if it’ll give him any answers. A book called Plastics for Dummies would be rather useful.

 

She gives him a classic Plastic up-and-down before setting her Vera Bradley or Kate Spade or Michael Kors or whatever-bag-they-all-have down on the ground before perching on the stool next to him. Honestly, he’s surprised she put it on the floor. She doesn’t know where the floor’s been. And this is science class.

 

Damian’s not a Plastic but he has better common sense than that.

 

He can’t just sit idly by and let that beautiful bag sit on the floor like that. “Um,” he says after clearing his throat, and her dark eyes glance at him awkwardly. “You might wanna put your bag somewhere else, I mean… That stain might be blood.”

 

“Oh, ew!” She bends down to scoop it up, putting it on the tabletop in front of her. There’s a pause, not like the first, as she visibly struggles with what to say. “Erm. Thanks.”

 

It’s almost odd to see a Plastic without any of the other three, especially Regina. It’s like she’s a dog without a leash, wandering aimlessly in search of her owner.

 

Except—and pardon his French—Regina’s the actual bitch here. He laughs at his own thought, the kind where you just blow air out of your nose, but he shrinks back down when that earns him a scathing look from Janis. Ms. Jones is giving instructions now, but Damian cannot focus for his life.

 

“Your leg is going crazy,” Janis mutters, and he looks down at his lap, where his leg bounces anxiously, still kind of on edge from the near-misgendering incident. He puts a hand on his knee to stop it, shrinking again.

 

Ms. Jones is talking and writing on the chalkboard, so they turn their attention to her. Damian just cannot get over the fact a Plastic is sitting next to him. Although it’s not willingly, he’s positive if she had the choice she’d have sat as far away from him as possible, but it’s mind-boggling to him regardless. But at least she doesn’t seem disgusted by his presence —not yet, anyway. Still, he taps his sneaker against the bar of his stool.

 

He sneaks a glance over and Janis has her phone hidden under the table, texting while expertly looking like she’s paying attention. Damian’s knee speeds up again, nervous energy running through him. She’s probably texting the other three about how she had to be put in this lame science class and is forced to be partners with this kid who’s totally gay. She knows his name now, so they’ll know it’s him. He wipes his hands on his thighs, already planning to eat his lunch in the chorus room.

 

The sound of his classmates starting to talk again snaps him out of his thought spiral. Janis rolls her eyes and locks her phone, placing it on the table in front of her. The lab must actually be starting now. He looks at the clock, already wanting it to be over. Ten minutes down, forty to go. Damian stalls by taking too long to write his name at the top of his paper. He really doesn’t want to try and talk, suddenly feeling insecure about every move he makes, knowing it’ll most likely be reported back to his lab partner’s head honcho.

 

Drawing squares and writing letters in them shouldn’t make Damian so nervous, yet here he is. Neither of them have spoken, but he can’t tell if that makes him more or less relaxed.

 

Typically when the beast gets quiet, that’s a bad thing. But up close, out of the corner of his eye, Janis doesn’t look too scary. Plastic, yes, but she’s minding her business. He can deal as long as she doesn’t accidentally-on-purpose let him see the texts she sent.

 

He doesn’t think he could handle that. She wouldn’t have to say anything, just deliberately open her texts so he could see them. He can hear it vibrating, feel it move across the table.

 

Being the nosy little bastard he is, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

 

His mom always tells him to just not stick his nose where it doesn’t belong if he wants to avoid getting hurt, but living in a world where people are out to get him whether or not he gets nosy doesn’t exactly make that easy.

 

He huffs, chin in his hand, his arm a sort of barrier. She doesn’t even notice.

 

“God,” he hears Janis mutter, silencing her phone and stuffing it back in her bag. Well, that’s a relief. But now he’s confused. A Plastics’ phone is like an extra limb, or a necessary organ. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen one put theirs away, let alone look annoyed over getting a text.

 

That’s mildly reassuring. Maybe Janis really isn’t that bad.

 

But then, naturally, his spark of faith dies the same moment it flickered to life when she asks under her breath, “So, what was that earlier?”

 

He knows what she’s talking about, but clams up anyway. “Um. What was what?”

 

Janis glances at their preoccupied teacher to make sure they won’t get caught, then clarifies, “When she called you Miss then stopped. I mean—” And then she looks at him, differently than before, and it’s the same look his grandmother gave him last Thanksgiving the moment she walked through the door, and his soul shrivels up and dies. Like, literally dies.

 

He sighs, closing his eyes. Before he can say anything, Janis gets this weird look on her face and quickly says, “I mean, it’s whatever, I’m just curious.”

 

She’s blushing, embarrassed again, and there’s this blockage in his throat and his chest and it hurts. It just hurts. The kind of hurt that’ll probably always be there.

 

“Um. I thought you and your friends knew,” he mutters, “friends” being a nicer term.

 

She blinks her stupidly long eyelashes at him. “Knew what?”

 

Oh, the audacity. The absolute gall. He finishes jotting something down a tad aggressively and she tenses up beside him, realizing she said all the wrong things.

 

“That I’m—” God, he can’t even say it. Can’t choke the word out. It comes so naturally to him in his head. But actually saying it out loud, looking someone in the face to tell them, it’s like it has a different meaning. And it does depending on her reaction, on everyone’s reaction. It’s not a bad thing, he knows that. But to other people it can be. That makes the hurt worse.

 

She’s waiting on an answer, actually looking apologetic for upsetting him. He wrestles with guilt even though he shouldn’t have to, guilt for letting it bother him when she’s the one who doesn’t understand. But maybe she should be sorry. He doesn’t expect her or anyone else in this school to get it, but that doesn’t make what they say any less harmful.

 

It’s been a matter of seconds but it feels like years. His fingers have curled into a fist, his nails digging into the skin of his palms.

 

If his mom were here, he’d know what she’d say, to be brave or something. Maybe he owes it to himself to do just that. To defend his own honor, or whatever.

 

“I’m trans,” he says, and can feel his pulse racing in his ears, his chest, his fingertips. “That’s why she—she got confused. She forgot. She thinks I’m—”

 

He wants to gag. Or cry. Or both.

 

Janis’s brow furrows. “Oh-kay. I don’t…know what that means. Sorry.” Her voice softens, eyes sweeping over his nervous frame like she’s seeing a different person. She kind of is. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse. If Regina somehow missed that memo beforehand, she was sure going to know within a matter of minutes. His stomach hurts.

 

Here we go, that vocabulary lesson he always hates. He feels like he did a few months ago, crying in the middle of his living room trying to explain to his parents how he felt. He takes a deep breath, because it’s all he can do, wishing there was a guidebook or a wise little video game character in real life to help him.

 

“Basically, um, when I was born the doctors were like, ‘it’s a girl!’ or…whatever, but I don’t feel that way anymore. So I go by a different name than before and people call me ‘he’ now.” It feels so clumsy, the words tumbling out of his mouth like he’s stuck in a dream where his teeth came loose. This is much worse. He’d rather be having that dream.

 

But Janis listens, paying attention to every word even if she doesn’t appear to fully get it just yet. She nods when he’s done, frowning thoughtfully. “Huh. I didn’t know that was a thing,” she replies, like being trans is some quirky fashion trend. There’s another pause as she thinks this over, fiddling with her pencil. It gives him time to catch his breath, feeling like he’s been trapped underwater and just broke through to the surface.

 

“Well, okay,” she finally says, sitting up straight with a prim shrug. “I get it now.”

 

_Do you?_ he thinks sarcastically, because when cis people say they get it, they just mean they sort of understand but want you to stop talking about it because the more you educate them the more insecure they feel.

 

Which is, you know. Hysterical. And maybe a little bit deserving.

 

But he can’t argue, and will have to settle for that, because coming from a Plastic, that wasn’t the asshole response he was expecting—and he’s relieved, because as tough as he wants to be, he’s not sure if he could handle a fight. Or the consequences.

 

That word has so many layers to it when you’re someone like Damian. Makes his skin crawl. What’s the worst that could happen to Janis if they got in a fight? Or if she had a falling out with one of her friends?

 

He can only imagine. Probably some petty bullshit like her lip gloss getting stolen.

 

You know, stupid girl stuff. Middle schoolers aren’t exactly masterminds.

 

Uptight, snippy little gossipy bitches, perhaps, but he doubts even Regina George is smart enough to even know the word consequences.

 

They have to return to their work then, and Damian feels kind of spacy now, both his knees jittery under the table. The weight hasn’t necessarily been lifted; if anything, it just got heavier. But at least she knows.

 

Oh.

 

She knows.

 

It’s not exactly a secret that he went from what he looked like before to how he looks now; kids have been giving him a hard time for almost a year. But there’s a reason for it and now Janis knows. Janis Sarkisian, Regina George’s best friend.

 

God. He’s so stupid.

 

He doesn’t think anyone would try to hurt him—they’re tween girls, not psychopaths. But there are words they might know, all sorts of crap they could hurl at him as he’s walking down the hall. Not safe here, not safe anywhere.

 

All it takes is one person to get the ball rolling, and even if Janis “gets it,” that doesn’t mean she’s on his side. How dumb to think for a moment she possibly would be.

 

Damian sits with this for the rest of the period, only occasionally speaking to confirm whether he got the same answer as Janis. He has never been happier to hear that droning tone North Shore Middle School calls a bell in his life. He watches Janis go as he slings his backpack over his shoulder, wondering where she’s off to next.

 

Wondering what she’ll say, what she’ll do. He’s never been so scared in his life.

 

* * *

 

Janis is still confused. And she feels bad about being confused. Maybe a little weirded out, too, and that makes her feel worse. She’s not even sure why. Why does she care? He’s just some weird kid she had the awkward misfortune of sitting next to.

 

Her discomfort must show on her face, because Regina’s porcelain brow pinches as she approaches the blonde’s locker, aka the Plastics’ default meeting place.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” is the first thing Regina says, giving her the onceover like the answer lies somewhere on her body.

 

Janis hugs herself to hide from her ever-probing eyes. “Nothing,” she says quietly, and Regina twists a curl around her finger, still looking at her like she’s trying to figure her out, knowing she might just crack and confide in her, anyway.

 

After all, best friends tell each other everything. No harm could ever come from that.

 

Since Gretchen and Karen aren’t here yet, Regina steps forward and fixes Janis’s hair. Janis’s heart skips a beat as her manicured hands begin fluttering around her head.

 

“C’mooon, Janny, you can tell me,” Regina coos. “I can keep a secret.”

 

Better than Gretchen, probably.

 

“I sat next to that Damian kid in science,” Janis hears herself say as Regina digs her eyelash curler from her bag.

 

Regina raises her eyebrows comically high, snapping the curler before tipping Janis’s chin up and clamping it over her lashes. Completely unasked for, but whatever.

 

“Really?” is all she says, and Janis can’t decipher her tone. She’s never sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Regina can be…unpredictable.

 

“Yeah,” Janis confirms as Regina moves on to her other set of lashes.

 

Regina snorts to herself, putting the curler away now. “Is he just as gay and weird up close?”

 

She makes it sound like he’s an animal in a zoo, something to gawk at.

 

Janis lifts a shoulder evasively. “I dunno. We didn’t really talk much.”

 

Regina retrieves a nail file, leaning against her locker. It’s amazing how she manages to look so much older and so young at the same time, a sixteen-year-old in a twelve-year-old’s body. Janis doesn’t know why her mom lets her wear so much makeup and color her hair. (Janis is the only one who knows she dyes it. She’s sworn to secrecy.) She looks pretty, but sometimes it’s too much. She doesn’t look like a kid.

 

She doesn’t act like one, either, Janis thinks dimly. Though she doesn’t spend much time with other people outside their group that she can’t know that for sure.

 

“That still implies you talked,” Regina points out, and Janis bites her tongue.

 

“Well. Sort of.” She blushes, looks down at her feet. She kind of hates her new shoes. And she really hates how perceptive Regina is.

 

“You’re hiding something, girl.” Regina pokes her with the nail file. “Spill it.”

 

Janis isn’t sure if she’s allowed to. Like, he looked downright terrified when he told her. It feels like this insurmountable secret even if he didn’t ask her not to repeat it.

 

But what’s more important to her, protecting the feelings of some outcast weirdo or telling her best friend all that she knows? Staying in Regina’s good graces is every other Plastics’ goal and responsibility. She’d be dumb not to.

 

Forgoing whatever shred of morals she has left, she inhales and says, “Well, he told me he’s, like… Well.” She glances around, stepping closer to whisper in Regina’s ear. “He told me he was born a girl but he’s not anymore. Like, he’s a boy now. He’s…trans, he said.”

 

“Ohhh.” Regina’s eyes get wide and shrewd, and Janis’s stomach drops a thousand feet. Again, why does she care?

 

Why does it feel like she just violated his trust?

 

“Interesting,” Regina says, right as the bell rings. “Dang it. Okay, we’ll talk later.” She bops her on the nose, gathering her backpack. She kisses her fingers then presses them to Janis’s lips, and Janis waits for her to walk away to wipe off her mouth.

 

Her heart is pounding. It aches, mourning the kindness and basic human decency it once was capable of. She doesn’t feel very kind now.

 

That’s the whole point, though. Plastics aren’t supposed to be kind.

 

* * *

 

Damian knows Janis squeaked.

 

It’s only second period and it’s spread to a majority of the eighth grade class. Damian has been getting looks in the hallway all morning, and it’s kind of hard for him to shake. Even when he walks into the classroom for study hall, he notices a group of his classmates stop talking and throw glances at him they think he can’t see.

 

He sighs, dropping his backpack and sitting in the back of the room. The invisibility was nice while it lasted. He flips through his planner, crossing out finished homework assignments when he notices a presence next to him. He tries not to visibly tense when he realizes it’s Janis Sarkisian.

 

“Hi,” she says awkwardly, angling her body towards his almost sheepishly.

 

Why is she talking to him? He hates this.

 

“Um, hi.” he mutters, shuffling through his backpack. His mouth feels dry and his hands start to sweat.

 

There’s a pause as he aimlessly looks through his stuff. She sits on the desktop beside him, studying her nails for a moment. Right when he thinks she’s not going to speak again, just loom around to taunt him, she says suddenly, “I’m sorry, Damian.”

 

He tries not to say “what?” out loud.

 

“Oh. Thanks.” He pulls out his English notebook to make it look like there was a point to all that stalling. His eyes scan her face and she looks like she means it. A Plastic being genuine to an art freak? Where is he right now?

 

“I just want you to know that I support you, I do. I felt really bad telling her. But, also, we can’t be friends.” She leans in closer so only they can hear. “I really want to be, though.”

 

Damian cracks a tiny smile. That means a lot, all things considered. You have to pick your battles sometimes, he supposes. “Well, I’m free if you ever come around.”

 

She smiles back, shy and totally un-Plastic like. Almost like she’s a human with feelings, too.

 

He has a feeling that he’ll see her around again.

**Author's Note:**

> my first post! thank you to my lovely and amazingly talented new friend stevie (@cadyjanis) for working with me on this. :-) damian hubbard is trans and neither of us take constructive criticism. thank you.


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